


A New Face

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: The Witcher and the Whore [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, BSDM, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Brothels, Butt Plugs, Cock Worship, Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gen, Impotence, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Prostate Milking, Prostitute Jaskier | Dandelion, Spanking, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Biology (The Witcher), kink club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Geralt had a system.An order, if you will. He had a list of the city’s brothels, and he worked his way through it, not visiting the same one twice, until he’d run out. Then he’d start back at the beginning of the list. Each time he visited, he’d try to pick a different whore.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and the Whore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928341
Comments: 12
Kudos: 269





	A New Face

**Author's Note:**

> I know it’s been done to death, but who cares. I wanted my own (extreme) AU of “Dandelion’s a whore because Bards are broke”). I also combined this with the “kink club modern AUs” that are my guilty pleasure to have more of a “semi-canon kink club au.”
> 
> Fight me. 
> 
> So, in this world there’s still all the non-human hatred from the series, but Witchers are exempt from that because they’re seen as just “Improved Humans.” 
> 
> If anyone has read The Dark Hills Divide I borrowed a bit from that, namely how the cities are all walled and no one goes outside unless they have to (and when they do leave, they always take Witchers with them). Because of that, Witchers tend to have a city that’s their “home base” so to speak.

Geralt had a system.

An order, if you will.

He had a list of the city’s brothels, and he worked his way through it, not visiting the same one twice, until he’d run out. Then he’d start back at the beginning of the list. Each time he visited, he’d try to pick a different whore.

It didn’t do well to have the whores getting attached or thinking they were special. Visiting more than once tended to do that.

Tonight, it was the _Longing Lord_.

Geralt’s skin crawled as he stepped through the door. It had nothing to do with the inside of the brothel itself - although, it was a disgusting place, he had to admit that - but rather to do with the effects of the potion still running through his veins. He’d only just returned from his latest trip out of the city, and needed to burn off steam. Besides, it was the only time he got to enjoy himself.

“Who’s the newest?” he asked, stepping up to the counter. The words _, that can handle a Witcher_ , remained unsaid. Man, woman, he didn’t care. As long as they weren’t breakable, it was good enough for him.

Margo eyed him suspiciously. “You ain’t tryin’ to frighten ‘im off, are ya?”

Geralt’s slitted eyes narrowed. She knew him, knew his habits. Knew he preferred not to fuck the same one twice.

“He’s new ta us, but he ain’t new ta whorin’,” she said. “Some fancy, boy he is,” she sneered. “Perhaps ya could knock ‘im down a peg or two.”

“Which room?” He wasn’t interested in being her disciplinarian. He just liked a rough fuck to get the adrenaline out of his system and a partner would could be paid to forget his habits. That was it.

“Fourth door,” she said, once Geralt had paid his fee.

The Witcher nodded stiffly and went in search of the man.

The door was closed and he knocked loudly, stepping inside without waiting to be invited.

The whore whose time he had just bought was sitting on the bed, staring at Geralt expectantly. He was used to his partners seeming at least a bit nervous when he entered - he had a reputation, after all - but the man only flashed a bright smile.

He’d assumed Margot had called him a boy because she called all the women in the brothel girls. He’d been mistaken. “You’re a child,” he said bluntly.

“I’m twenty-three,” the man sniffed, folding his arms over his chest. His blonde hair was curled with tongs into neat ringlets, framing his pale face.

That was good enough for Geralt. “Strip.”

“Not much of a talker are you?” asked the man as he began to undress.

“I’m paying for your time, not your tongue.”

“More’s the pity for you,” teased the man. “I’m told I have a magnificent tongue.”

Geralt folded his arms over his chest and watched as the man stripped. But he stopped before he was finished, still wearing a loose fitting chemise.

“All the way,” ordered Geralt.

“I’d prefer if I didn’t.”

“I’d prefer if you did.”

For a moment, they stared at each other. Geralt’s eyes narrowed. So did the whore’s. But then he slowly slipped off his shirt, letting it drop to the ground.

A burn scar decorated the left side of his chest. A small brand. Geralt recognized the mark. “You’re a half elf,” he said.

“Is that a problem?” The whore tilted his head and smiled, but his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know,” Geralt said. “Do half elves have assholes?”

The whore snickered. “You know, Witcher, I like you.”

“Geralt.”

“I know.” The whore stepped away, bending down to pick up his clothes and neatly folding them. “There’s only one Witcher who frequents the red light district so faithfully.”

“Glad to be famous.” 

“I imagine you’d be famous either way - _ballad worthy_ , as it were - but it certainly is peculiar.” But the whore said nothing else on the subject, instead, sitting down on the bed and looking at him expectantly. “Nothing wrong with peculiarity,” he mused, almost to himself.

“What are your limits?” Geralt asked, seeing no need to continue the chatter.

“Oh, not much, really,” the man waved his hand flippantly. “Don’t fret over it.”

“I need to know,” Geralt said firmly. “Or I’ll leave and tell Margot you need a turn on her whipping bench downstairs.” The infamous bench sat in the brothel’s parlor, and patrons could pay a penny per spank to punish whichever whore had annoyed Margot most recently. Geralt had never felt the need to partake in such a humiliating display. 

“Who says I wouldn’t like that?” the whore’s eyes glittered with amusement, but he swallowed nervously and licked his lips.

Geralt pushed himself off the wall, striding toward the man, stopping just short of touching him. “Fine,” he said, “If you want to play difficult. I’ll tell you what I have planned and then you can tell me if it suits you.”

“Well, go on, at this rate, we won’t get to the actual fucking until dawn.”

“I’d like to gag you-”

“No.” His reaction was quick and firm.

Well, at least the man was finally giving Geralt an idea of his limits, even if he hadn’t expected to hit on one so soon. “Fine, I won’t. May I tie you to the bed?”

“Yes.”

“Impact?”

“Hmm.” The whore tilted his head, studying Geralt. “What implement?”

“Hand.”

He raised an eyebrow, almost seemed disappointed. “Is that all?” the man teased.

“Humiliation?”

“No.”

Geralt had to admit that one was fine by him. He rarely enjoyed it himself, but it was always best to ask before something slipped out. “Anal?”

“Yes but I’m not ready yet-”

“I’ll handle that.”

“Oh?” Blue eyes gleamed. “Well, well, I can’t turn down that opportunity.” He sat on the bed, peering up at Geralt through his eye lashes. “Anything else?”

“Bend over.”

“Oh! We’re starting!” He grinned, flipping himself over the bed and exposing his ass to Geralt. “It’s about- Ah!”

Geralt had caught him across the ass with his hand while he’d been chattering, “Count.”

“One!”

**Slap.**

“Two. Should I be thanking you? I know some people enjoy-”

“No.”

**Slap.**

“Three.” Geralt paused, stepping back. There were already silk ropes hanging from the bed canopy, so he pulled the whore forward, adjusting him until he could get him bound how he wanted.

The man wiggled about as Geralt crossed his arms over his back, tying them to opposite posts so that he was pulled uncomfortably. But when he checked the man’s face, he gave Geralt a cheerful smile. “I’ll try to be quiet, since you said you wanted to gag me.”

Somehow, Geralt didn’t see that happening.

**Slap.**

“Four.”

**Slap.**

“Five. Harder! Please!”

**Slap.**

“Six.”

Adrenaline was starting to pump through his veins, that, combined with the affect effects of his potion, was exactly what he needed. Geralt took a moment to take a deep breath, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders.

**Slap.**

“Seven.”

**Slap.**

“Eight.”

He slipped his hand into the front of his pants, stroking himself in an effort to speed the process along.

**Slap.**

“Nine.”

**Slap.**

“Ten.”

He still wasn’t hard. Gritting his teeth in disgust, Geralt growled, “Oil.”

“Left hand dresser. The clear vial has no scent.” The whore watched him walk to the dresser, although he tried to keep himself angled so that it wouldn’t be clear he’d yet to grow erect.

But somehow, the man must have seen it. “Pardon my asking, but have you got problems with your cock?”

Geralt jerked the drawer open with more force than was needed, grabbing the clear vial the man had indicated and trying to ignore his continued ramblings.

“I’d heard tell you were a strange fuck, but I hadn’t anticipated this-”

Behind the whore once again, he grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and pressing against his ass. “Not another word,” he snarled, lips near the whore’s ear.

But the man didn’t seem bothered, saying, “Let me use my tongue, it’s quite skilled.”

Geralt paused, letting the man think he was considering his offer, but on the contrary, he was counting the words he’d said. _Eight_. “Every word out of your mouth is another strike,” he said, popping the cork off the oil and pouring it over the bare ass in front of him. “That was eight, there.”

The man still wasn’t cowed, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Geralt,” he said gently.

“That’s fifteen.” He pressed one finger inside him, pleasantly surprised by how relaxed his muscles were. It wouldn’t take much to get him stretched properly. Remembering the way the man’s eyes had lit up at the idea of being stretched, Geralt pressed a second finger in him, then slowly spread them.

The man moaned, his head falling forward.

Geralt prepared him quickly, cramming a third and then a fourth finger in him as soon as he was ready, liberally coating him in oil.

He carefully released one of the man’s hands, then said,“Don’t say a word, just point. Is there a plug?”

The whore pointed to the other dresser, opposite the one that had contained the oil. Geralt strode over and opened it. There was quite a selection, all different sizes, colors, and textures. Annoyed with the man’s lip, Geralt chose the largest.

Then he strode back to the whore’s backside, slapped his ass, and shoved it inside. He cried out in alarm, but Geralt could smell the arousal coming off him. “You have fourteen left,” he said simply.

“Ah- fourteen is a lot, Geralt,” the man whispered. He twisted to look over his shoulder, blue eyes wide.

“I’ll be careful,” Geralt promised, resting his hand on the man’s hip for a moment. Then he added, “But you can tell me to stop, if it’s too much.”

The whore nodded. “Proceed,” he said cheerfully.

Geralt slapped him carefully, just enough to jostle the plug, and he cried out. “Ah! One!”

The Witcher grinned. If this didn’t get him going, nothing would.

The whore was even more vocal with the plug in him, yelping, crying out, and pleading to various gods (and, amazingly, a few minstrels that Geralt recognized from history books) with each strike. Geralt would have liked to stop, yank the plug out, and fuck him silly.

But his body still wasn’t behaving.

Geralt laid his chest against the whore’s back, pressing his lips against his ear. “May I put my hand over your mouth?”

“Yes.”

He covered the whore’s mouth with one hand, using the other to continue spanking him. Pressing against him, he rutted against the mans’ bare flesh.

For the final strike, Geralt increased the power, hitting him right across the base of the plug. He yelped and dove forward into the bed. “Fourteen!” His body was slick with sweat and flushed with arousal.

Geralt envied him.

He still wasn’t hard and kicked the bed frame in frustration. There were some days that nothing could make his body respond, it seemed like it was one of those days.

“Geralt-” said the man again. “I’m serious-” he slid off the bed, falling to his knees in front of the Witcher and reaching for his pants, which Geralt still wore to cover his shame. “Let me.”

“Fine,” he spat out. If he was that desperate to get his throat fucked, then Geralt was happy to oblige. But when he moved to grab the man’s hair, he shook his head. “Let me lead.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes.

“I’m the expert whore,” the man said, then swallowed Geralt’s cock down to the base.

He leaned against the wall as the man hummed softly, raising his hands to fondle Geralt’s balls. Then the warmth of his mouth vanished and he stood, stepping away. “Wait here, a moment,” he said, vanishing into a closet.

The whore stopped in the door on his return. He was clearly holding something in his hand, just out of Geralt’s sight. “I- I need your word on something, Geralt,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“I’m not overly fond of canes, so do try not to hit me too hard.”

“Don’t need to use one one, then.”

But the whore smiled. “I’m going to suck you off and you’re going to use the cane to hit my ass - not too hard, mind you, but enough to aggravate the marks from earlier.”

Geralt had to admit that was something he hadn’t tried. “If you need to stop-”

“Then I will.”

The man smiled and crossed the room, dropping to his knees after giving Geralt the thin wooden cane. Then he took Geralt’s cock back in his mouth.

The Witcher watched as he lapped his tongue along the length, bobbing up and down drool leaking from his lips. He carefully tapped the cane against the whore’s ass and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. It seemed to be a challenge to do more.

He tapped it firmly against him and the man yelped around Geralt’s cock. He felt that, in more ways than one. Geralt’s cock seemed to finally be stirring.

The whore had noticed too, and he grinned around Geralt’s cock, then resumed his sucking and fondling Geralt’s balls.

If nothing else, he was eager, sucking Geralt as though his cock was the finest treat he’d ever tasted. _He’s a good actor_ , thought Geralt, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. For a moment he thought about pulling the man off his cock, turning him around, and plowing into him. After all, he’d put a lot of effort into stretching him.

But it was also nice to simply relax and let the man’s tongue do the work. Soon even the cane was forgotten, dropped on the ground as the whore took Geralt apart with his expert touches.

When Geralt climaxed, the man gulped it all down. It took a moment for Geralt to manage to bring his senses back, to process the world around him. The whore was still kneeling in front of him, his hands on Geralt’s hips to steady him. Looking down, he could see the man’s erect cock.

“Sit on the bed,” Geralt said softly. After all, he’d paid for the full night. “Don’t touch yourself.”

Only very rarely had he managed a second round, but the whore seemed determined to wring every possible bit of pleasure from him. Speaking of which, it was becoming annoying to keep calling him _The Whore_.

“I never got your name,” Geralt said, surprising himself. He never asked for names.

The whore smiled. “Dandelion.” He sat on the bed, wincing slightly as his ass touched the sheets, and watched Geralt with expectant eyes. His cock looked painfully hard.

“Dandelion,” Geralt repeated, testing out the strange name.

“I’m a bard, originally,” said Dandelion with a shrug.

Geralt nodded, wondering what the man’s singing was like. Then he sharply reminded himself that he didn’t care. “I’d like to bathe,” he said. “Run a bath, but don’t-” he gestured to the man’s cock.

Dandelion’s eyes gleamed. “You’d like me to stay hard? I’d like that too.” Then he was off, vanishing back into what Geralt had thought was only a closet.

Geralt leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He ought to tell the man to finish himself off, then have him bathe him. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he enjoyed being bathed, and there was no reason for him to force the man not to orgasm.

Just as he’d convinced himself to tell the man to have his fun, Dandelion’s voice called out, “Geralt!”

He followed him through the door, finding himself in a small room with various toys hanging from the walls. Just beyond that was small bathroom.

Dandelion was perched on the edge of the tub, cock jutting out proudly, his skin flushed.

Geralt stripped and stepped into the water, letting Dandelion rub his shoulders, still sitting on the edge of the tub. The man even began to hum. Then, without thinking, he roughly pulled him into his lap.

Dandelion yelped as he tumbled into the water, splashing around for a moment as he fought for balance, his hands clawing at Geralt’s chest. Once he finally got situated, he settled on Geralt’s lap, studying him warily.

“What?” asked the Witcher.

“I wasn’t expecting to be drowned,” the man admitted. “You didn’t seem the type.”

“I’m not.” Geralt had tried it once, holding his partner under water until they’d signaled that they needed to come up, but he hadn’t liked it at all.

It seemed Dandelion was of the same mind, his shoulders relaxing. “Most excellent,” he said.

Geralt allowed Dandelion to wash him, soaping him up carefully, occasionally pressing open mouthed kisses to Geralt’s exposed skin. Once, he even ducked under water to rub his face on Geralt’s groin, but even that wasn’t enough to get him hard again.

He enjoyed the process nonetheless, occasionally rewarding his partner with a quick stroke up the bard’s engorged cock.

Once Dandelion had declaimed him to be clean, Geralt lifted him off his lap. “Hands and knees,” he ordered sharply. “Face away from me. Rest your chin on the edge of the tub if you’d like.”

Dandelion obeyed easily, and Geralt rubbed his hand over his punished bottom. The bard shivered. “Don’t make a sound,” Geralt warned. “Or I’ll stop.”

He waited for Dandelion to nod before he pulled the plug out of his hole, replacing it with two fingers. Slowly he pressed inside the bard, his hole practically swallowing him to the knuckle. He curled his fingers, finding Dandelion’s prostate and causing a shiver to run up his spine.

With a grin, he kept rubbing at the bundle of nerves.

Dandelion was biting his hand to keep quiet. “Enough,” Geralt said finally. “I want to hear you.”

After that he was treated to a symphony of sounds he’d never heard before. Whimpers, pleas, sobs, yelps - every moment pulled a different noise from the man, and Geralt was disappointed when he climaxed with a particularly loud cry of “Geralt!”

It hadn’t been enough to make Geralt hard, but he couldn’t complain at the blissful look on Dandeion’s face as he pulled the man back to sit in his lap.

They soaked in the tub until the water was growing cool, and then Geralt stood, gently pushing Dandelion off his lap. He stepped out of the tub and Dandelion followed him, wiping him dry with a towel, humming softly as he worked. Geralt picked up his clothes and Dandelion whined.

“I’m not going to get hard again,” he said simply, pulling them back on.

“And here I was hoping I’d get a cock in my ass,” said the poet with a sigh. “Ah well.”

Geralt snorted. “I should go,” he said simply, once he had his clothes in order.

“You paid for the full night,” Dandelion reminded him.

The Witcher shook his head. “Consider it a tip,” he said, slipping back through the closet, past the bed, and to the door.

“Oh I will.” Dandelion smiled. “Goodbye Geralt, bring me a story worthy of a ballad, next time.”


End file.
